Saturday 15 October 2005 19.58 EDT
First published on Saturday 15 October 2005 19.58 EDT

When Sir Christopher Meyer finally left the self-styled capital of the free world, he held a party. It was no dull diplomatic affair. Instead, the guest list coming to say goodbye to 'our man in Washington' would have made a Hollywood A-lister green with envy.

Here were Condoleezza Rice and Karl Rove, giants of American politics. Tina Brown and Harold Evans, icons of the media world, were there. General Richard Myers came to the swanky affair, as did actor Rupert Everett and a bevy of other entertainment stars. There was even a Supreme Court judge.

During the festivities, Meyer was asked which, out of all the places that he had visited (more than 100 cities in 46 states), was his favourite. Americans are usually fiercely proud of their home towns and the potential for giving offence loomed large. But Meyer, as usual, picked the perfectly balanced reply: 'When I'm in Peoria, it's Peoria. When I'm in San Diego, it's San Diego.'

The audience laughed (both the Blue State coast and the Red State heartland had been appeased) and, crisis over, the party continued. It was further proof, if it were needed, that Meyer is a master of diplomacy.

It is a skill he will certainly need in the weeks to come. When Meyer left America in 2003 and took up a job as head of the Press Complaints Commission in London, the gathered audience probably thought that was the last they would hear of his six years at the heart of power. Diplomats, especially of the calibre of Meyer, are not known for kiss and tell, but now he has written a book. Its pre-release publicity uses words ('candid', 'honest account') that traditionally make politicians nervous. It is a book whose very name - DC Confidential - hints at secrets about to be told. And secrets Meyer certainly knows.

He has been at most of the major events of our time, from the Cold War to the collapse of communism and the defeat of John Major. He helped forge the Bush-Blair friendship and was an integral piece of the machinery that cranked up the reasons for invading Iraq (reasons that then turned out to be wrong). In short, Meyer is a man who knows things. Important things about important people. But can it really be that Meyer, the true insider's insider, is finally going to spill the beans?

Sir Christopher Meyer was born into tragedy. It was 22 February 1944, and just four days earlier, his father had been killed. Flight Lieutenant Reggie Meyer was a young RAF pilot and he had been shot down over Greece. At first, his wife, Eve, thought he was missing in action but then she heard that he had died. The Meyers had lived in London but Eve travelled to Beaconsfield in order to give birth away from the Luftwaffe's bombs. Yet only a few minutes after Christopher was born, the air-raid sirens sounded.

It was undoubtedly a tough start in life, but things rapidly got better. His mother rejoined the services after the birth and the young Meyer was sent to Leicester to live with his grandmother, seeing his mother at weekends. His education then followed the tried and trusted paths of the upper-middle classes and rapidly gave him the accent that many describe as 'officer class'. He went to solid public schools before going to Peterhouse College, Cambridge, which, even in the world of that ivory tower, has an unusual reputation for elitism.

Amazingly, given his later success, Meyer had no ambitions to join the Foreign Office. In fact, the university careers service bizarrely suggested he indulge his passion for travel by working for a Covent Garden company with fruit interests in Sicily. It was his director of studies, right-wing historian Maurice Cowling, who suggested he take the Foreign Office entrance exams. Meyer did so and was surprised when he passed and they promptly offered him a job. He never looked back.

Meyer rapidly carved out one of the best careers in postwar British diplomacy. He travelled to Russia, then to Germany as ambassador and eventually landed in Washington at (for the Foreign Office) the very tender age of 53. In between were several stints in London at the Foreign Office press office, or on the Soviet desk, and also four years as John Major's press officer. All the time, he made contacts, friends and very few enemies.

He also met his second wife. The exotic, half-French, half-Russian Catherine Laylle had been desperately seeking help over the abduction of her two children by her German ex-husband. Reluctantly, the British embassy in Bonn granted her an audience with Meyer, who had just arrived as ambassador. It was love at first sight (Meyer dismissed his embassy officials when he saw her so he could meet her alone). He would later often joke that he could not help her with her case, so he did the next best thing and married her.

It is a typical witticism. Meyer has disarming charm in copious quantities. It has helped him win over foreign diplomats and hostile journalists alike. He was always one to disguise a serious point with a bluff joke or twinkle in his eye. But he is also hard working, fiercely intelligent and utterly committed to his job. He banned his staff in Washington from using the phrase 'special relationship' out of a fear that they would not work as hard if they believed they had easy influence on their American counterparts. 'He is a great boss and at the same time nobody's fool. It's a rare combination, probably especially rare in his job,' said one former diplomat who worked with him in America.

A rarer combination still is the fact that while in Washington, Meyer and the now Lady Catherine became huge social hits. Ambassadors come and go in Washington but none had the impact of the Meyers. It might have been because they were newlyweds (they married the day before leaving for the US), but the couple embarked on a frenzy of socialising. Their beautiful mansion became the scene of parties which were chronicled in the usually gossip-starved Washington press. They were equally at home playing host to politicians or Hollywood stars.

Catherine had as big a role as Meyer. Though she would complain about some of her duties, she was skilful at entertaining the partners of dignitaries being schmoozed by her husband. She added colour to a Washington often derided by its residents as a 'government town'. They were a couple everyone in Washington wanted to be friends with, bringing a slice of Cool Britannia to the heart of American power. When they left, the Washington Post lamented: 'The cool kids are moving away'.

They left an America very different from when they arrived. In 1997, British diplomacy in the US was defined by the strong friendship between Tony Blair and Bill Clinton. It was easy work, but already Meyer was looking forward. In 1998, he travelled to Texas to meet the then little-known governor, George W Bush, before Bush had even declared he was running for the presidency. Thus, after Bush won in 2000, Meyer found he knew both Bush and Blair but that neither knew the other. It was perfect diplomacy and the two leaders' warm friendship owes much to Meyer's far-sightedness.

In fact, such clubbable backroom channels are the hallmarks of his career. They served him well as Major's press supremo, where he relished the wheeling and dealing of relations with the lobby press pack. Even at his new job at the PCC, he has shown a huge preference for settling disputes through negotiation, not handing out judgments.

But Meyer's carefully laid plans, like everyone else's, fundamentally shifted on 11 September 2001. No sooner had he leapt the hurdle of introducing Blair and Bush than two hijacked planes were flown into the World Trade Centre and everything changed. Just the night before, Meyer had been entertaining Rice on his terrace, discussing the state of the world. All that they talked about became out of date when the planes hit.

It was also the event that led to the Iraq war. Between 2001 and 2003, Meyer found himself central to the US-led and British-supported plan to invade Iraq. He was at the key meetings, he saw the confidential briefings and knew all the main players. When DC Confidential is published, many readers will rush to those pages first, desperate for an insider's account of what really happened.

In public so far, Meyer has continued to defend British policy and British intelligence. But he has also done so with that slight twinkle that indicates he's willing to say more now that the ties that bound him when he was at the Foreign Office have been cut.

It is no wonder, then, that DC Confidential sparked a bidding war on Fleet Street and eventually went for a rumoured six-figure sum. Journalists clearly want to see what Meyer has to say. His publishers hope that the British public, who were, after all, his real employers, also want to read the truth. They hope his account will show why Britain is in Iraq and why the reasons for going to war nearly all turned out to be wrong. But will Meyer deliver?

He and Catherine have settled back into London life over the past two years. The US embassy Bentley may be gone and the servants, too, but their South Kensington flat is luxurious. They are fully part of the British establishment. Is Meyer really going to break all those confidences now? Or will he, instead, continue to be the consummate diplomat, treading a fine line between several masters, keeping everyone happy, revealing just enough and no more.